Susan Sarandon (left) a Better Davis and Jessica Lange as Joan Crawford for FX’s new anthology series “Feud: Bette and Joan.” FX photo

There is a redeeming force at work in the first installment of FX and Ryan Murphy’s latest anthology series “Feud,” but it’s not directed at the series itself.

It aims to redeem the forever intertwined, rumor-ridden story of the two women who fill out the rest of its title: Bette Davis and Joan Crawford.

It’s been more than 50 years since the two legendary actresses were pitted against one another onscreen for the first — and last — time in the only movie they made together, the B-horror classic “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.” But for decades prior, the women found themselves on opposite ends of one of the great feuds of Classic Hollywood, one fed by blind items spewing tales of nasty undercuts to each’s talent and looks, diva behavior and salacious power moves (like when Davis made a play for Crawford’s husband).

The feud itself is not surprising, considering the two women spent much of their careers battling for the same roles and respect in an unforgiving industry. But far more fascinating was how truly complicated their relationship was, beyond what was printed in the gossip rags. They each sought to carve out a legacy for themselves, something that grew more difficult as their careers were increasingly left at the mercy of ageism, sexism and a general disregard from Hollywood.

Mining these deeper cuts into the reality for actresses of a certain age is when “Feud: Bette and Joan,” premiering 9 pm. Sunday, becomes a engaging, persuasive televised thinkpiece on how Hollywood really hasn’t come that far in its treatment of women.

Like Murphy’s last anthology, “The People V. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story,” this lusciously shot series subverts many preconceived notions about what to expect — particularly if the viewer’s only knowledge of the Davis/Crawford relationship is formed by the feud-centric promos. Guided by truly stellar and layered performances by Jessica Lange as Crawford and Susan Sarandon as Davis, it digs deeper to capture the pain and desperation underscoring their relationship.

“Feud” traces Davis and Crawford’s relationship as they make “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane” in 1962, through the subsequent Academy Awards debacle and a failed attempt to recreate the success of the film.

On the surface, the story has all the Murphy hallmarks: iconic female roles, costumes to die for and a showy time period to revel in.

The series never turns down a chance to indulge in the rumors and the tension between the women, who early on recognized they must lean into the legacy of their feud if they wanted to garner interest. Despite a pact to be civil behind the scenes, whenever they sense a hint of betrayal the proverbial claws come out and the undermining begins — to Hedda Hopper’s delight (played by a deliciously scheming Judy Davis).

But the briskly paced show — “Baby Jane” has been shot and released by episode four — quickly finds more to chew on than just the scenery of their opposition. Instead, it seeks to show how Crawford and Davis’ similarities, not just their differences, fueled their aggression (and envy) for one another — real at times, fabricated at others.

Lange approaches Crawford’s insecurities and instabilities by capturing her prowess and need for adulation from her peers, who rarely gave it freely (the rare moment Davis does, Crawford seizes it). Even when she felt she had no options, she continued to fight — sometimes to the detriment of her image and career.

There is a frailty to Crawford, but not because she was a weak woman. In the early 60s, she was a battered one, clinging to whatever sense of dignity and fame she could still find after years of being kicked around by Hollywood. Lange finds that and brings to the forefront, but never lets Crawford be just the crazy woman Hollywood so often wanted to make her. She presents in Crawford a complicated, desperate, empathetic, sometimes unlikable but fully realized woman. And she nails the eyebrows.

Simultaneously, Murphy-verse newcomer Sarandon nearly eclipses Lange’s showier role with her nuanced take on Davis, with whom she bears a striking resemblance and nack for the actress’ infamous mannerisms. Davis is just as beaten down as Crawford, but filters her emotions in a more hardened, internal manner. If Crawford wears her emotions on her sleeve, Davis keeps them behind a mask — one encased in powdery makeup in “Baby Jane.” She was the artist of the pair, evident in a moving moment when Sarandon-as-Davis is brought to tears by her own performance as Jane.

This insight into each woman is invaluable to the series, giving it purpose and direction. But it never forget to have a little fun with the absurdity of Hollywood.

Sarandon’s debut of her Baby Jane Hudson makeup and costume on the film set is a wonderfully dramatic reveal that plays like a runway walk, completely with gasps. Meanwhile, the build up to the spectacularly snide and surprisingly heartbreaking 1969 Oscars ceremony in episode 5 is well-worth the wait.

In the supporting cast, Stanley Tucci embodies the opportunistic Hollywood machine as Jack Warner, who’s studio released the film but only because he felt he could exploit the feud to his advantage at the box office. Alfred Molina, meanwhile, plays the empathetic director of “Baby Jane” genuinely seeking to protect Davis and Crawford, while also being used by them.

The show isn’t perfect. The narrative is framed as a flashback primed with context by interviews done in the 70s with fellow actresses Olivia De Havilland, played by Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Joan Blondell, played by Kathy Bates. While the women offer fun anecdotes and spare no ounce of attitude, their interviews feel a little too removed from the meat of the story. Zeta-Jones accomplishes more when she’s introduced into the main storyline as Davis’ confidant during the Oscars.

For all its Hollywood glamor, “Feud” is best when it strips off the actress’ warpaint to show what’s beneath. Those moments when their walls crumble and fail to hold back their true feelings — whether it be pain, like when Davis is rebuked by her daughter; or genuine joy, when Crawford sees the audience embrace “Baby Jane.” The legacies of Crawford and Davis — together and apart — are in good hands with Lange and Sarandon. But more importantly, for once, the spotlight isn’t blindingly directed their opposition. It’s on their will to survive and play the part when everyone else had written them out of the script.

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